


Let My Love Open the Door

by lynnearlington



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-28
Updated: 2011-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnearlington/pseuds/lynnearlington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Santana proves to be the best girlfriend ever. </p>
            </blockquote>





	Let My Love Open the Door

Showered and changed after Cheerios practice, Santana gets to Brittany’s house late in the afternoon with a bag full of craft supplies she lifted from the daycare near her house. 

When she makes it upstairs to Brittany’s room, she laughs; the place looks like a glitter bomb exploded inside it. 

Setting her bag down right inside the door, Santana spots Brittany on the bed, hunched over a large pink poster board with a glue gun. 

“Babe, you’re still in your uniform,” Santana says by way of greeting. 

Brittany’s head whips up, takes Santana’s presence in with undisguised glee and sits up quickly. “Santana I have like the  _best_  idea ever.” 

“Yeah, I got your text,” Santana replies, weaving through the mess of poster board and magazine clippings littered across the floor. “I brought more supplies.” 

“Awesome!” Brittany claps a little and Santana wonders if her friend has been into the sugar this afternoon. “Kurt’s totally going to win class president.” 

Maneuvering to get a better look at what Brittany’s working on, Santana arches an eyebrow at the unicorn Brittany's cutting out. “Kurt’s running for class president?” 

“Yup, I told him to.” 

“Why?” 

“Because Kurt’s awesome,  _duh_.” 

Santana shrugs, makes room for herself on Brittany’s bed. “I guess.” 

“Okay so the theme of this campaign is obviously  _unicorns_.” Brittany whispers the last bit like it’s the secret to the universe and Santana bites her lip against the urge to laugh. Years of training has taught her that one does  _not_  laugh at the idea of unicorns as a serious topic in front of Brittany. 

“Brilliant,” Santana deadpans. 

“I know, right? Because Kurt is  _totally_  a unicorn.” 

“Totally,” Santana agrees dutifully, crossing one leg over the other as she leans back against Brittany’s pillows. She grabs the latest gossip rag sitting on Brittany’s bed side table and flips it open. 

“Santana,” Brittany whines. “This is serious.” 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” She flips past the first few pages, advertisements for shit she doesn’t care about, and knocks her feet against Brittany’s thigh. In all honesty, she’s content to sit here and watch Brittany do  _anything_  - she’s so beyond grateful to be in the same room as her without wanting to cry that Brittany could sit there throwing pencils at the ceiling and Santana’d be happy. 

She honestly couldn’t care less about some run for class president, or a campaign strategy built around unicorns. She certainly doesn’t want to spend her afternoon gluing glitter and pressing stickers on posters, but she’d do anything to be around Brittany right now.

“You don’t like my idea. I can tell.” 

Rolling her eyes, Santana eyes her over the magazine in her hands. “Britt, your idea is great. But you know I suck at the creative stuff. I’m way better if I just cheerlead from over here.” 

Brittany considers that for a moment, eying Santana up and down in a way that makes her think this whole arts and craft session could be a lot more fun if Brittany’d just join her up near the pillows. 

Months ago it would have been easy to convince Brittany of that, to smirk a little, crook her finger in silent suggestion and have Brittany’s lips against hers in moments. Now the whole thing is more tentative, more complicated. It’s no less comfortable because this is  _Brittany_  and they don’t know how to be uncomfortable around each other, but it’s like it was before this thing ever started between them, before the first time they slept together, before the first time they kissed. 

Santana can’t just ask and receive any more. She has to  _try_  and it hasn’t been easy to remember how to do that. 

After a moment Brittany seems to accept Santana’s reasoning, holding out the glue gun in her hand. “Hold my glue gun,” Brittany orders sternly, this completely adorably firm expression on her face. 

Laughing, Santana sits up and grabs the device in question. “Aye, aye, Captain,” she jokes, “That I can do.” 

They spend the majority of the afternoon pasting pictures of unicorns and Kurt’s head onto pink poster board. Santana sprinkling glitter and the like across the surface with one hand, the other flipping through magazine after magazine. 

“Do you think these look good?” 

“Yeah,” Santana says automatically, not even looking. 

“I hope Kurt likes them.” 

“He will.” 

“You’re not even looking,” Brittany whines, smacking Santana on the thigh. 

“Babe,” Santana laughs out, raising an eyebrow of some atrocious outfit Brad Pitt left the house in the other day and answering Brittany absently. “I don’t need to look at them to know they’re good. You’re magic at this.” 

Silence drops over them for too long - Brittany’s prone to humming when she’s working on something so Santana gets concerned when she finally realizes she can’t hear anything. Her gaze pulls up to see Brittany staring at her, an inscrutable expression on her face. 

Looking around, Santana grows confused. “What?” 

Brittany stares for a second longer before shaking her head and laughing softly. “Nothing.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yup, can you pass me that thing of glitter next to you?” 

Santana obeys. As their fingers touch, just barely, but enough to be noticeable, Brittany’s breathing catches just loud enough for Santana to hear it. 

She thinks about saying something, considers pressing harder to figure out what made Brittany look at her that way, but Brittany’s back to humming again and Santana’s content to lean back against the pillows and return to her magazine. 

Later, when they’re done for the night and Santana’s leaving, Brittany hugs her goodbye, wraps long arms around her neck and squeezes hard. It feels like it did when they were kids and Brittany believed if you squeezed hard enough it could fuse people’s hearts together. 

Santana feels the hug all the way home. 

\--

Brittany’s a frequent flier in Santana’s dreams, and that night is no different. 

It’s a familiar scene - that supply closet up on the second floor that they’ve used to fool around in since they were freshman. Brittany’s got Santana pressed up against the wall, one hand travelling slowly up her thigh, mouths fused together. 

Santana’s dreams are always hot, drenched in the knowledge of memory and fueled by aching desire. Brittany’s fingers find the right spots at the right times, her tongue traces shapes down Santana’s neck that she’ll feel for hours after waking and it’s nothing but pleased smiles and satisfied groans. 

Sometimes it’s fast, other times it’s slow, but Santana always,  _always_  comes. This time it’s with Brittany’s mouth spread in a smile against the underside of her jaw, two fingers pumping hard and fast inside her. 

Santana breaks apart with a cry into Brittany’s temple, fingers clenched in blonde hair. She’s gasping for breath when Brittany pulls back and smiles at her, fingers pulling slowly away from the slick heat they’re settled it. Santana gulps at the feeling, squirms a little before smirking all sated like. 

“Santana,” Brittany says softly, blue eyes staring seriously into her own. 

“Yeah, Britt?” Santana’s fingers are already trailing down Brittany’s body, playing with the waistband of her skirt. 

“There’s something I have to tell you.” 

Santana’s movements stop at the firm affection in the tone, and her heart clenches a little at the way Brittany’s looking at her. “Yeah?” 

Brittany opens her mouth to continue just as Santana wakes up from her dream, the blaring sound of her radio alarm pulling her into consciousness. Dream Brittany fades away to reveal the empty spot in Santana’s bed and all satisfaction bleeds straight out of her. 

With a groan, she slaps at her alarm and rubs sleep out of her eyes, shrugs out of bed and works hard to get ready for the day.

It takes a little longer to separate dream from reality, but by the time she sees Brittany at school, a careful smile is plastered across her face and she’s able to look into blue eyes without hearing all the things left unsaid between them and some of the things that  _aren’t_. 

\--

That night, Santana comes barreling into Brittany’s room not knowing what she’s going to find. It took her less than ten minutes for her to sprint from her house all the way here after receiving Brittany’s concerning  _911 craft supply emergency my house_  text. 

“What’s wrong?” Santana says right away, looking for any source of disaster around Brittany’s room. 

“Look at these.” Brittany gets up from her bed and holds up a poster sized black and white picture of Kurt. 

Santana glances down at it before turning worried eyes back at Brittany. “What was the emergency?” 

“You didn’t bring supplies!” Brittany yelps suddenly, eyes searching Santana’s body for what she assumes is a supply bag. 

“Brittany!” Santana bites out. “You 911 texted me.” 

“Yes, and I told you to bring more craft supplies! We have to make more posters for Kurt, look at these! He’s going to  _lose_.” 

“You said craft supply emergency,” Santana intones lowly. “I sprinted over here.” 

“Yeah, craft supply emergency. I’ve run out of glue and glitter and pink crayons. It’s an emergency, what did you think?” 

 _That you had super glued your hair to your face, overdosed on rubber cement, cut a finger off with the scissors_. “Sorry,” Santana settles with. “I’ll go get more supplies.” 

“No,” Brittany says, grabbing Santana’s hand and pulling her to the bed. “It’s okay I think I have enough made for now. We can make the rest tomorrow.” 

“It’s fine, Britt. I”ll just run down to the pre-school.” 

She makes a move to leave, but Brittany holds her in place. “No,” she repeats. Brittany turns to look at her with such an open, honest expression that for just a second Santana forgets to breathe. “You’re here now, don’t leave.” 

“Okay.” Tension floods out of her. “What do you need me to do?” 

“Kurt wants to use these posters,” Brittany explains, setting the black and white photo down on the bed. “But I really think it’s a bad idea, and he won’t listen to me.”

“Why do you want Kurt to run anyway? Just run yourself and then you can control the whole thing.” 

Brittany shrugs, but Santana reads everything there is to read in the gesture - uncertainty, insecurity, sadness. “I’m not smart enough to run myself.” 

She wants to blurt out,  _don’t be stupid, you’re totally smart enough_ , but as the words form on her tongue, something stops them from coming out. She isn’t sure she could get Brittany to believe her.

“Britt,” Santana sighs out instead, feeling incompetent as a best friend. 

“Anyway, I just need Kurt to see that his idea is totally boring and depressing. I mean he’s a  _unicorn_. He’s special, and he shouldn’t hide from it. People shouldn’t hide from the things that make them special, don’t you think? I mean people should like celebrate that stuff.” 

Brittany looks towards Santana, blue eyes pleading, effortlessly tugging at Santana’s heartstrings and it all makes sudden and overwhelming sense. 

Santana wants nothing more to hug Brittany, to pull her to bed and wrap them both up in warmth, but that’s not how it works anymore. They’re taking it slowly, and Santana needs to be the best friend right now, not the girlfriend. They’ll make their way back if Santana has to drag them there at a snail’s pace. 

Lifting her chin up a little bit, Santana looks Brittany in the eye. “You’re right. People shouldn’t hide.” 

Something in Brittany’s face reacts just enough for heat to spike in the back of Santana’s eyes, but she remains steady, offers Brittany all the support she has in her.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah and you’re right about these posters,” Santana says pointing at them. “They’re depressing and they don’t show what’s so great about Kurt in the first place.” 

Brittany nods, but there’s a slight unmistakable pout on her face. “Kurt doesn’t like mine though.” 

“Okay well why don’t we come to a middle ground then?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Santana picks up a poster depicting a slightly disturbing scene of unicorn mounting Kurt. “Well let’s maybe not put unicorn porn up on the school walls.” 

“The unicorn is the important part,” Brittany argues. “Kurt’s carrying him on his back because he’s like...the unicorn whisperer. It makes sense, I swear.” 

“It makes total sense,” Santana says slowly. “I’m just thinking we can change it up a bit so Kurt will like it. Like maybe put Kurt on top of the unicorn instead - like he’s riding him to victory or something.” 

Observing the poster for a moment, head tilted, Brittany shrugs. “That could work.” 

“Come on,” Santana says, grabbing scissors and a picture of Kurt. “I’ll help. It’ll be fine.” 

“Are you sure? I mean Kurt said he wanted these...” 

Santana shakes her head. “You’re the campaign manager,” she says firmly. “And you’re good at this. Your idea is great, okay? Just go with your heart.” 

“My heart, huh?” Brittany bumps her hip lightly into Santana’s and smiles. 

“Hasn’t failed you yet, has it?” 

Something sad flashes across Brittany’s face, but she smiles. “No, not yet,” she responds. 

“Let’s get to work then.” 

“You’ll help me put these up tomorrow?” 

Santana looks at her seriously. “I’ll help you with whatever you need.” 

\--

They put the newly improved posters up in the hallways the next day. They’re all over the school by the time Kurt finds them, and when he lashes out at Brittany, Santana sees what’s happening clear as day. Nothing inside her hesitates in coming to Brittany’s defense. 

“These  _are_  toned down,” she explains. “In the original the unicorn was riding  _you_.” 

Kurt throws a hissy fit anyway because he’s dramatic like that, but Santana couldn’t really care less about him right now. What she does care about is the sad look shadowing Brittany’s face and the lower lip starting to jut out. 

Normally this is the part where she insults Kurt effortlessly, assures Brittany that he’s a moron that doesn’t know what he’s talking about and how he shouldn’t be class president anyway, but then sincere honesty finally finds its way out of her mouth instead and everything she wanted to say in Brittany’s bedroom just last night comes forth. 

“Look, this campaign is brilliant,” she starts, facing Brittany head on. 

Brittany’s voice is soft, unsure. “Really?” 

“Completely. And if he doesn’t get it then he doesn’t deserve to have you as his campaign manager. There’s no one like you,” she says, breathing easily. “You’re a genius, Brittany. You are the unicorn.” 

Honesty in a crowded hallway makes her feel a little too vulnerable, so she twirls away before Brittany can respond. As she paces down the hall she can almost feel Brittany’s eyes on her back, can imagine the small smile on her face and happy triumph flows through her. She can totally do this best friend thing again. 

She gets around the corner, is halfway to her locker when a hand suddenly grips her arm and manhandles her into the nearest bathroom, pushing both of them into a stall. If the touch hadn’t been immediately familiar, she would have taken the person’s head off. 

Instead, she arches an amused eyebrow up at Brittany and looks at her expectantly. “Yeah?” 

Brittany doesn’t say anything, just grabs Santana's cheeks with both hands and puts their lips together firmly. 

Santana jumps a little in surprise, but her body reacts long before her mind catches up. Arms go around Brittany’s waist to pull her closer, feet shuffle forward to rest against Brittany’s, and her lips move in a way they’ve longed to for weeks. 

The kiss is hot and long and everything Santana’s always loved about kissing Brittany. It feels like their first kiss and their last kiss all at once, spreading joy throughout all of Santana’s limbs. 

Pecking kisses softly against Santana’s lips, Brittany breaks away and stares down at her with impossibly blue eyes. “Thanks,” Brittany whispers, warm breath brushing across moist lips. 

“Anytime,” Santana croaks out. 

And that’s all it is. Brittany lets her go, walks out of the bathroom and leaves Santana there to sag against the wall in wonderment. 

\--

This time it’s Brittany walking into Santana’s bedroom with an arm full of art supplies, and dropping them on the floor without another word. 

“Hi,” Santana says, eyeing the mess on her floor as she sits up from her desk. 

“So you know how you said that I’m the uh...,” Brittany pauses for a second, looks away but smiles softly in a way that makes Santana feel all kinds of good, “that I’m the unicorn?” 

“Totally,” Santana responds with ease, leaning back against her desk. She tries not to remember the part where that led to a makeout session in the bathroom immediately after. “You are.” 

“I’m going to run for class president,” Brittany announces, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. 

For some reason, Santana didn’t really expect that. Her jaw drops open slightly in shock as she stands up straight and sputters for a second. “That’s  _fantastic_ ,” Santana finally gets out, the words falling out of her with sudden ease. “Fantastic.” 

Grinning wide, Brittany shoots her this look that warms Santana all over. “Yeah?” 

“Yes,” Santana answers. 

Then, suddenly, the grin drops from Brittany’s face and is replaced with still seriousness. Santana watches the transformation with concern, but isn’t able to ask what’s wrong before Brittany’s talking again. “I have something really, really important to ask you.” 

“Okay,” Santana draws out, tone full of suspicion. “You can ask me anything. You know that.” 

But Brittany looks worried, the skin around her eyes crinkling with nerves as she bites her lower lip. 

“Would you...” Brittany hesitates, looks up at the ceiling like the rest of her question got lost up there before looking back at Santana. “Would you be my campaign manager?” 

Exhaling sharply, Santana laughs loudly as the concern washes away. “ _That’s_  it? Jesus, Britt you acted like it was a big deal.” 

Indignation flashes through Brittany. “It  _is_  a big deal!” 

Quickly, Santana recovers from her amusement and plasters on a serious expression. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I would be honored to be your campaign manager.” 

Eyes narrowed, Brittany looks at her skeptically. “Serious?” 

“Serious,” Santana parrots, nodding. 

Not two seconds later, Santana’s got her arms full of best friend, happy giggles resounding in her ear. “You are so my favorite person ever.” 

Santana has to close her eyes at that, breathes deeply just to temper that overwhelming happiness that threatens to consume her. “You too.” 

Brittany pulls back from the hug and it happens again. Lips are pressed against her own and Brittany’s kissing her with intent. 

“This is going to be so awesome,” Brittany breathes out against her lips, still kissing her in between words. 

“So awesome,” Santana agrees readily, not wanting the kissing to stop. 

But stop it does, and Brittany jumps off her, spinning around in a circle like she can’t decide which direction to go. 

“Babe,” Santana laughs out, grabbing Brittany to stop her movement. 

“I don’t know where to start.” 

“You don’t have to know,” she says. “I’m your campaign manager now, remember? Let me grab my clipboard and call an emergency Cheerios meeting and then we can start brainstorming.” 

“What, why do you have to call a meeting?” 

Santana’s already looking at the Cheerios roster she has sitting on her desk, trying to decide who to call first. “We’re going to need to start practicing a campaign routine right away so they can all learn it.” 

“Santana,” Brittany says, laughing a little. “We don’t need a whole Cheerios routine, we’re just running for class president. Let’s just fix the posters I made for Kurt. I brought a ton of pictures of myself we can cut out and-”

“Brittany,” Santana interjects, her tone full of Head Cheerio bravado. “We’re not going to  _run_  for class president.” 

Confused, Brittany’s brow furrows, face falling. “Huh? But I thought that-” 

“We’re going to  _win_  class president,” Santana explains, a confident smirk on her face.

The confusion leaves, replaced by an easy almost disbelieving grin, and Santana doesn’t know if she’s felt this happy with Brittany in a long time. 

“We’re going to win,” Brittany says, voice awed like she hadn’t thought that far yet. 

“That’s right, girl.” Santana says as she picks up her clipboard and pen and flops down on her bed. “Now, I’m thinking big performance in the auditorium with all the Cheerios.” 

“We should rent a unicorn.” 

Santana starts writing down vague ideas on the piece of paper. “No.” 

“Okay then a horse and we’ll just put a horn on him like a unicorn.”

Tapping her pen against her chin, Santana observes Brittany critically. “You shouldn’t be in your Cheerios uniform though. You have to stand out.” 

“I should ride on a unicorn. That’s what I’m saying.” 

Ignoring Brittany, Santana keeps thinking aloud. “Like a really short, leather skirt.” 

Brittany looks down at the legs Santana’s eyeing for a second. “A short skirt? So what’s wrong with my Cheerios uniform?” 

“I’m thinking shorter. We can keep the color scheme, but sex it up a little bit.” 

“Why?” 

Santana’s tongue darts out briefly to wet her lips. “Because your legs are hot that’s why.” 

Brittany stalks towards the bed. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” her eyes travel up Brittany’s body to the blonde hair tumbling over shoulders, free from the usual high pony and completely gorgeous. “You should keep your hair down too.” 

“You’re good at this,” Brittany comments, putting a knee on the mattress near Santana’s hip and swinging the other over her body so she’s straddling her. 

Santana’s train of thought starts to derail. “It’s easy when I’m selling something as hot as you.” 

Brittany’s fingers trail down Santana’s stomach to play with strings on the waistband of her sweats playfully. “I still think I should ride in on a unicorn.”

Before they can move to a more dangerous location, Santana grabs Brittany’s hands and stops them. “Nice try, but no.” 

Brittany pouts a little, deflating in Santana’s lap. “Then can I at least wear the hat I bought?” 

“No.” 

“Okay, but there needs to be room for my unicorn plushie at least. He’s so cute!” 

“I’ll think about it.” Santana discards the clipboard to the side, her hands resting on Brittany’s thighs without another thought. 

“You’re supposed to do what I say.” 

Santana laughs. “No I’m not.” 

Fists resting against her hips, Brittany looks at her, clearly unhappy. “Why not?” 

Hips thrusting upward, Santana’s able to push Brittany’s body to the side until she’s perched over her, rocking down between thighs and staring down into surprised blue eyes. “I’m in charge now.” 

A familiar grin spreads over Brittany’s face, fingers gripping into Santana’s biceps as her eyes flit down to Santana’s lips. “Hot,” she breathes out.

Santana leans down closer, acts like she’s going to kiss Brittany, before stopping inches away from her lips and smiling. “I know.” 

Propelling upward and off her, Santana grabs her clipboard again and pulls out her phone. “Time for that later, Britt-Britt. We have to get working if we’re going to win.” 

Brittany looks at her with a mixture of shock and frustration, but gets up off the bed laughing. She’s rummaging in her bag and humming some Madonna song Santana vaguely recognizes. When the sound stops, Santana stops writing her mass-text to the Cheerios to find Brittany’s gaze trained on her, movement halted. 

Santana arches a questioning eyebrow. “What?” 

On a deep inhale, Brittany smiles softly, shakes her head like what she’s about to say isn’t a big deal. “I love you.” It comes out quiet and sure and  _perfect_. 

Santana lets herself hear the honesty in the three words, wraps herself around it and vows to never let go. 

“I know,” she says, smirking a little. “That’s why anything’s possible, remember?” 

Happiness swirls around them like something tangible in the air and Brittany grins wide. “I’m going to win.” 

Santana nods, has no problem telling Brittany such; she’ll tell her as often as she needs to hear it. “You are.”


End file.
